Thinking About: Other People

A little while ago I had a week off and spent it in a cottage a few miles outside Hereford. Although not exactly isolated it was far enough off the beaten track to give one friend dark enough skies to use his telescope and to give some of the others problems with cell-phone and Internet access – 5 out of 6 people brought laptops which I found more than a little amusing.

Despite the fact that I needed the break from work and I was in the company of friends I have known for years I still, after a few days, began looking forward to being back in my own home and to sleeping in my own bed. I wasn’t homesick (something I have never suffered from) but I was very conscious that I was in the company of other people for 7 days straight and for almost 24 hours of each day. That is highly unusual for me. Normally I spend most evenings and weekends on my own – at least physically. When I got back home I honestly relished the silence in my house (before I put some of my music on) and loved the idea that I could use the bathroom whenever I liked and that I didn’t have to take anyone’s wishes, opinions or feelings into account whenever I thought about what I wanted to do next. But don’t get me wrong. I like other people. I’ve even loved some of them and a smaller sub-set has loved me too. But I am fully aware of the fact that I not only like being on my own and want to spend time alone that I actually need to be on my own. My idea of Hell, to misquote Sartre, is to be in the company of other people 24/7 365. It would, I strongly believe, send me insane.

One thing I’m unsure of though – whether this feeling is the result of me being alone so much or whether it’s the cause. Have I simply adapted to my circumstances by preferring being alone? There might be an element to that but I don’t think that’s the whole story. It’s true that I have had to adapt to a largely solitary life but I doubt that I could have adapted so well if I did not already possess a predisposition to wanting/needing to be alone. Despite missing having a ‘significant other’ in my life I cannot conceive actually living with someone no matter how much I love them. If I did go so far as to share a house with someone there would have to be part of it that was purely mine where she would be excluded. She would have to be a very special person to put up with that kind of thing I think.

I have known several people who are clearly terrified of being alone for more that very short periods. I have always marvelled at their overpowering drive to be with other people (often to be with anyone rather than no one). They have been equally amazed at my ability to stand long periods of solitude. Personally I believe that I could spend a year on a deserted island without breaking a psychological sweat. The other people I know would probably have killed themselves in the first month if or sooner – or built a raft out of old coconuts and sailed to the nearest inhabited landmass. I do not understand this need – at least on an emotional level – and it is one of those things that perplex me. I suppose that in many ways I’m rather odd. If most people felt as I do there would probably be a lot less of us around. Maybe I’m missing a gene somewhere. It might explain a few things. If this ‘condition’ is genetic I’m pretty confident that it’s not going to be passed on to future generations. In the mean time I shall continue being on my own (I strongly suspect) and enjoying it (mostly).